The Sounds of Rwanda

– From Birdwatcher at Lake Hornborga to Survivor of Kigali’s Bird Chaos

There are sounds… and then there are Rwandan sounds.

The first few weeks here in Kigali felt like moving into a live version of a bird documentary—on max volume—directed by someone with a deeply unsettling fascination for high decibels and very early mornings.

I thought I was prepared. I mean, I’m no beginner when it comes to birds. I’ve been fascinated by birds since I was little. But thanks to my dad’s intense passion for birdwatching, my interest was taken to, let’s just say… an unusual level.

Fueled by his enthusiasm, we—yes, the whole family—signed up for a birdwatching course. It was like stepping into a secret club where people spoke in cryptic codes like “greater spotted woodpecker” and “rare crested tit”. And there was no room for half-measures.

I was probably the only kid in school who could confidently tell the difference between a reed warbler and a willow warbler before turning ten.

But my dad didn’t stop there—orienteering was the next great family adventure.

If you’ve never heard of orienteering, let me paint you a picture:
It’s late November, the air is damp, cold, and grey. What does a perfectly ordinary family do?

We grab a sweaty map, a compass, and an excessive dose of optimism—then head out onto a clear-cut forest area to search for a tiny control pin hidden behind some random bush in the middle of nowhere.

Dad: “Just one more chec2kpoint, it’s probably right behind that mossy stone!”
Me: “We’ve been walking in circles for 45 minutes…”
Mom: “I think we’re lost.”
Dad: “That’s the whole point!”

A family bonding adventure that would probably have made Bear Grylls slowly back away from the forest.

But let me tell you something: Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for the auditory chaos of Rwanda.

Here, the day doesn’t begin with a gentle sunrise or a peaceful cup of coffee. No, here, nature kicks off its own Rave Party Deluxe at 4:00 AM, with the birds competing to see who can wake up the most people with the highest-pitched screeches.

And my house? A charming building from a time when “soundproofing” was just a friendly suggestion. The windows, with their mosquito nets, bars, and glass slats, function more like an amplifier than a barrier.

But the birds were just the warm-up act. Allow me to introduce the main headliner: the neighbor’s rooster.

I don’t know where this rooster came from, but I’m fairly certain it was jet-lagged. At 4:00 AM sharp, every single morning, it kicked off its one-rooster show—whether anyone asked for it or not.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the rooster summoned Rwanda’s entire bird choir. Birds joined in one by one, half-asleep and croaking like they’d all had a wild night out:

There I was, lying wide awake, seriously contemplating sneaking over to the neighbor’s place to give the rooster a one-way ticket to a much-needed vacation… But after two weeks, the silence returned. I won’t say anything, but I doubt I was the only one thinking that thought.

And then there’s the Hadada ibis—nature’s answer to a car alarm straight from hell.

If you think you know what loud is, think again. This bird screams like a mix of a fire drill and a broken air raid siren. One morning, I woke up completely convinced there was a break-in happening—only to realize it was just a bird casually screaming “Good morning, Kigali!” at full volume.

Now, after 1.5 months, I’ve managed to block out some of the sounds—or at least negotiated with my brain to ignore them long enough to catch a few hours of sleep.

But one thing’s for sure: If you’ve ever considered yourself a morning person, come to Rwanda and let its birds challenge you for real. There’s no snooze button here—just a full-volume natural concert from 4:00 AM onwards.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll dust off my old birdwatching binoculars and return to my roots—this time with a pair of ear defenders firmly in place.